


Draco Almighty

by aaoch1, HickorySmoke



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1DAU: Earlier Zerrie Break-up, 1DAU: Zayn didn't leave 1D, Complete silliness, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drarry UST, Gen, HP: EWE, Harry Potter is having an off-screen gay crisis, International Fanworks Day 2016, M/M, Model!Draco, Muggle/Wizard Relations, RPF, SEX!, Wizards navigating Muggle Technology, drugs!, rock&roll! (i mean...pop)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaoch1/pseuds/aaoch1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HickorySmoke/pseuds/HickorySmoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether it’s an ascent that no one would have believed possible or a final and absolute fall from grace is completely a matter of perspective. Either way it is, ultimately, all Pansy’s fault.</p><p>In which Pansy loves One Direction, Muggles love Draco, and Draco loves fame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once in a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for IFD 2016. I may have interpreted "short fanwork" rather loosely...I got excited and already had over 10k words before I realized they were supposed to be drabbles. Ehh
> 
> Thanks to:  
> Alex for brainstorming and being a repository of 1D information, and for writing/compiling Chapter 2! :D  
> FJP for telling me where 1D goes to party :]  
> Nick Grimshaw for helping me wake up every morning for work when I had that awful job last year <3 #trueMVP  
> All the 1D/HP fans who bother to read this ridiculous fic!

It starts with the magazines. One day, after another tortuous nine hours of process serving for the law firms of wizarding London, Draco arrives home to discover that the flat is covered in them. There in the middle of the living room sits Pansy, looking a bit bright at the eyes and gazing intently at the glossy publication in her hands. Sometimes she gets like this. Pansy tends not to engage with any of her interests halfway, and over the past ten years as her flatmate — if something works, why change it? — Draco has learned to tolerate these odd bursts of enthusiasm with remarkable (he thinks) grace. He simply sighs, and leans down to pluck one of the magazines off the floor in the kitchen to see what has caught her eye this time. Beautiful, airbrushed faces smile up at him, five boys at the prime of their youth. A pop band, he thinks. It could be worse — three years ago, she couldn’t stop talking about some convoluted love triangle between a vampire, a werewolf, and a Muggle girl; Draco had wasted hours of his life listening to her gossip about them before he discovered that the whole affair was _fictional_. Looking down at the magazine in his hands, it takes a moment for Draco to recognize that something is wrong. The boys smile, and smile, and smile. They don’t even blink. Or breathe. Or move. At _all_.

“Pansy.”

“Hmm?”

“ _Pansy_.”

“Yes? I’m listening.” She doesn’t look up from her magazine, which has the model on the cover who matches the boys’ eerie stillness.

“Please tell me these aren’t _Muggle_ magazines.” Pansy says nothing. “Pansy…”

“You know I can’t lie to you, Draco,” she says airily, glancing up at him. “So I’m afraid I shall have to decline to comment.”

“Muggle magazines? _That’s_ what you’re interested in now?”

“No, silly, not Muggle _magazines_.”

“Then what? They certainly look like Muggle magazines.”

“It’s a band.”

“A _Muggle_ band.” Draco looks down at the boys’ faces, so still they could have been dead. Except he has never seen a corpse smile like that.

“Yes, a Muggle band. They’re called One Direction.”

 

It starts with the magazines, but it doesn’t end there. Within days, Pansy makes Draco accompany her to Muggle London to find a Muggle record shop. They have a magical record player, and Pansy thinks it’ll work just fine for Muggle records, but when they ask the tattooed girl at a shop in Camden for a One Direction album, she just laughs at them. Pansy draws herself up imperiously — she tends to do this whenever she doesn’t get what she wants, or feels a bit out of place. It rather reminds Draco of a grumpy owl. The girl’s laughter dies on her lips.

“You’re serious.”

“Well of _course_ I’m serious. I want to listen to their music. This is a record shop. They’re in magazines; they must have records.”

“They don’t really — I mean, you might be able to find a record, but you’ll probably have to look online.” Pansy’s eyes flash angrily, and she gets that line between her eyebrows that always means danger. The line has gotten quite severe in recent years.

“On a _line_?” She asks. The girl looks alarmed.

“No, _online_ — listen, why don’t you just buy a CD?”

“And _where_ exactly might I find one of these…seedies?”

“Er — well, anywhere. Try Argo’s, it’s just down the way.”

As they make their way to the door, Draco glances over his shoulder at the girl. She seems relieved to see them go.

They find the discs — CDs, not seedies, as it turns out. But they also have to buy a very bizarre looking radio with all kinds of buttons featuring strange symbols, and then little cylinders to put into the radio called ‘batteries’ to make it go since their flat isn’t fitted for the odd electric leashes that most of the radios have got. For some reason their presence in the shop causes a bit of a stir, and by the time they have everything they need a small flock of Muggle shop-people have come over to help them, or maybe just to watch. They’re all wearing matchingblack and red shirts. It’s unsettling. They’re very polite, but their eyes go rather large whenever either Pansy or Draco has a question, and they whisper together like confused house elves. Pansy draws herself up, and up, and up, until she’s practically on her tiptoes. Draco wishes they’d just stayed home, but says nothing.

After that, Pansy uses the Muggle radio and the CDs to fill the flat with extremely peppy music whenever she’s home. Draco tries to ignore it.

 

After the radio, Pansy tells Draco that she needs something called a Tear Net.

“Whatever do you need tears for?” It’s early, and Draco is tired, his mind mostly taken up with the Daily Prophet laid before him on the table and on warming his hands with his coffee cup. “Are you working on some kind of potion?”

“Not a tear net, an _internet_. Apparently the Muggles use it to talk to one another.”

“And you…want to talk to the Muggles.” Draco takes a sip of coffee. It’s hot, and black, and tastes bitter on his tongue. It’s soothing. Pansy ignores his tone, which quite clearly says _I-do-not-care-to-hear-any-more-about-this_ , and continues on doggedly.

“Well, I’ve just read about it in an article. _Apparently_ , the Directioners use it to talk to one another.”

“And who, pray tell, are the Directioners?”

“The _fans_ , Draco, honestly. The One Direction fans.” Pansy sighs. Draco sighs as well, and rubs at the muscles tensing in his forehead.

“You’re still on about — ”

“ _Yes,_ Draco, and don’t pretend I haven’t seen you eyeing my posters.”

“Well, they’re so _still_. It’s unsettling.”

“Ri-ight. I _saw_ you dancing, the other day, while you were making dinner.” Draco purses his lips. He’d thought she was taking a nap. He would have to be more careful. “In any case, I want an internet, so we’ll have to go into Muggle London to get one.

“I think I’ve had quite enough of Muggle London, thank you.”

“That was _weeks_ ago, Draco, don’t make a fuss.” Draco glances up, and she’s making that pleading look he has never quite learned to resist. He curses inwardly.

 

Draco refuses to go back to the big shop where they found the CDs and the Muggle radio, so Pansy brings him to an airy store full of people gathered around bizarre metallic devices. A bearded man comes over to them with one of the electrical things cradled in his arms like a baby and asks them what they need.

“I want,” Pansy says, drawing herself up imperiously, “an internet.”

It takes rather a long time to work out how to get the internet. It’s _the_ internet, apparently, not _an_ internet, and it’s not really something you can buy. The shop-man tells them they can have someone come install a box in their house, but Draco puts his foot down — there will be no Muggles coming into the house to install permanent electronics, or they’ll never get the deposit back. Apparently, though, if you buy one of their funny electrical books, you can take it to a Muggle cafe, and they’ll give you the internet for free. So that’s what they do. It takes a couple hours for the shop-Muggles to teach Pansy how to use the ‘Max-Book.’ Then she drags Draco to a Muggle cafe to try to use the internet. After an hour, Draco is tired of looking at the funny screen, watching Pansy poke determinedly at the randomly organized letters, and being stared at by Muggles. He doesn’t know how Muggles always seem to be able to spot witches and wizards, but they can. He makes up a terribly important social appointment, and Pansy is so focused on her Max-Book that she doesn’t even argue.

After that, Pansy spends a great deal of time in Muggle cafes at the weekend. She tells Draco that she’s been talking to Muggles over tumblers, and Draco thinks that going out for drinks with them is taking things a _bit_ far, but she insists it’s just something to do with the Internet. It’s nice, in a way, to have the flat to himself for a few hours on the weekends. Sometimes Draco misses Pansy always being around though. He’s grown used to her constant presence, at some point.

 

It’s been nearly a year since the magazine incident when Pansy comes home one Saturday evening with that slightly-manic glow around her eyes, and Draco braces himself for the worst.

“They’re coming to London next month. I’ve got us tickets.”

“Pansy, ” Draco begins, trying to muster up his most commanding tone, “I _really_ don’t think — ”

“No, don’t give me that look, Draco. I’m not going to go to a concert completely surrounded by Muggles all on my own. You’re coming with me and that’s final.” The line between her eyebrows is looking especially severe in the glow of their oil lamps. “Anyway, you really don't want to know how much I’ve spent on these tickets.” Draco sighs, and acquiesces. It’s just one night.

 

The concert comes at the end of a terrible Friday.

Truthfully, every day of Draco’s job is somewhat horrible; at minimum he spends nine solid hours chasing down witches and wizards to force them to accept myriad legal documents that they decidedly do _not_ want. But this day is a bona fide disaster. First, he follows up on a deskful of owls requesting his services from six different legal secretaries, three of whom take one look at him and decide that they do not require a Malfoy’s professional services after all. He then spends the entire afternoon chasing a Mrs. Haversham all over England. Draco has _just_ managed to corner her and force her to accept her divorce papers when finds himself on the receiving end of a particularly ferocious Jelly-Legs Jinx in retribution. He manages the counter-curse as the soon-to-be-formerly-Mrs.-Haversham cackles and Disapparates. He is, however, still wobbly on his feet when he finally makes his way to the Ministry of Magic to deliver a Notice of Appeal to the shabby process counter where Lavender Brown works as secretary to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Lavender’s job is particularly dull, and unlike Draco she spends her time at a desk with no windows at all. At least he gets to see the outside world and move about a bit, despite hex-related job hazards. That’s what he tries to remind himself, anyway, whenever Lavender uses the opportunity of Draco’s deliveries to make his life miserable. She generally uses _every_ opportunity to make his life miserable, so he ends up thinking determinedly about her terrible work conditions quite a bit. On this particular day, she glances over the Notice before leveling a truly devastating sneer up at Draco.

“This bit granting the court jurisdiction isn’t clear, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean? It’s written right there — the court has jurisdiction for this case under section 73(1).”

“Ye-es,” Lavender says, drawing out the vowel in a sing-song voice. “But what _sub-_ sub section? 73(1)(a)? Or (b)? Or perhaps (c), or — ”

She is interrupted by a small cough to Draco’s right. They both turn, and Draco is entirely unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. _Potter_ . Beloved Saviour of the wizarding World and one of the most accomplished Aurors of the DMLE. Trust him to show up on a day like this.

“Lavender **,** Malfoy,” Potter says, nodding at each of them in turn. Immediately, Lavender’s expression rearranges itself from ugly condescendence into a very pretty smile.

“Hello, Harry,” she says warmly, beaming up at Potter.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco says, between gritted teeth.

Potter’s lips spasm upward for a moment, like he’s trying to smile but hasn’t quite got the hang of the whole thing. He gives up after a moment, fortunately, but then his expression shifts to a mixture of pity, forgiveness, and — oddly — hope, as he looks at Draco. This is the real reason why Draco hates to run into Potter. That stupid expression scrambles his emotions and he doesn’t know _what_ to feel. Mostly, it makes Draco want to hex him into the next month. Today is no exception — resisting the urge to go for his wand makes his hands shake. After a few beats of silently staring at one another in which Draco finds it rather hard to breathe, Draco bids Lavender adieu, turns on his heel, and stalks out of the Ministry of Magic as quickly as he can without quite breaking out into a run. Lavender will have to figure out the damn sub-sub section herself.

He feels itchy and _awful_ and the only thing on his mind when he returns to the flat is quiet evening with a book and some very strong drinks. He’s barely settled onto the worn chaise-lounge, though, when he hears the _whooshing_ sound of Pansy coming in through the Floo and his quiet contemplation is shattered. She’s talking excitedly to him even before she has stepped out of the flames.

“It’s today! I can’t believe it’s today, Draco, what are you doing still in your work clothes? We’ve only got a couple hours, and we’d better eat first. And drink. Come, up you get, you’re certainly not going in _that_ .” _The concert_. Draco had completely forgotten. He picks at his robes, which are perfectly serviceable if a terribly dull brownish colour. His anger at Potter is replaced by a bone-tiredness. He wants to stay in. But he’d promised, so he stands, throws his drink back, and follows Pansy into his own bedroom, where she’s lain out a Muggle outfit on his bed.

 

When they arrive to stand in the line that stretches around Wembley Stadium, they’re still arguing about the damn outfit. Pansy is dressed much the same as he, but with heels on her Muggle leather boots and a long, flowy purple shirt. With her dark hair cut in its somewhat alarming angles around her face, Draco can’t help but thinking she looks quite striking. She’s used to these tight Muggle clothes, since she wears them out to Muggle London on the weekends to use her Max-Book. Draco is not. He’s finally given up complaining about the fact that his shirt has a _completely_ pointless pocket over the left nipple, and moved his criticism onto the ridiculous trousers.

“I might as well be _naked_ ,” Draco says for the umpteenth time, tugging self-consciously at the black denim that hugs his spindly legs.

“It’s in _style_ , Draco, no one even notices,” Pansy insists. A Muggle a few places in front of them rakes his eyes over Draco’s legs, looks up and winks. Draco glowers back.

“ _He_ notices,” he hisses, not caring that it’s rude to point as he jabs a finger in the Muggle’s direction.

“Oh come off it, Draco, he’s checking you out. You’ve got nice legs, I’m just…helping you to show them off.”

“Show them off? I’m _practically naked_.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re the one who put me in this ridiculous get-up.”

“Shush, Draco. At least _try_ to enjoy yourself. No one thinks you look odd but you, _honestly_.”

 

Once they get inside, Draco finds that the concert venue is, frankly, overwhelming. Pansy has bought them two places quite close to the stage, which juts into the crowd like the leg of an enormous T. It reminds Draco of when his father had brought him to the European Wizard Dueling Championships. The dueling stage had jutted out just like this, but everyone in attendance then had been wearing robes. The crowd had seemed large and loud at the time, but Draco is forced to reassess what he deems ‘large,’ what he deems ‘loud.’ He looks around — to the space across the stage, to the standing-room-only area at the end of it, and up, up, up. In every direction, as far as he can see, there are legions of fans. There must be more people here than there had been at the World Cup when he was fourteen. Many of them seem quite young. He wants to make some kind of remark to Pansy about this, but the screaming is so _loud_ he can hardly think, and she would never hear him, anyway. He glances at her, and she’s grinning wickedly at his expression.

 _You owe me_ , he mouths.

 _Just wait_ , she mouths back. She fishes in her purse for a moment, and produces a little jar with malleable wax in it, handing Draco some before making herself two ear plugs. He follows suit.

It feels like eons before the show begins — the crowds swell and swell until every square inch of the place is filled with Muggles. Then a band comes on, but they don’t look right at all — Draco doesn’t think they even have the right number of members. Pansy sees Draco’s confused expression and points at her ticket, which has _Opening Act — Five Seconds of Summer_ written on it. Draco doesn’t mind the music, though, and bobs his head a bit. He sees Pansy laughing at him out of the corner of his eye and ignores her.

When the openers finish, the crowd buzzes with excitement, and Draco feels himself swept up a bit despite his best efforts to stay aloof. Then the band comes out, and the noise swells as they settle with their instruments. When the five boys who have been watching him from silent, still magazines and posters for months burst out from a moving platform under the stage, the crowd’s screams reach a fever pitch.

 

It isn’t until the third song that it happens. One of the boys comes and stands at the edge of their section of stage barely ten feet from where they stand. He faces them squarely as he sings. The boy is…stunning. Perfection. There is a subtle grace to his body, a mathematical beauty to the stretch of his limbs that was never quite captured in those death-still posters of Pansy’s. His skin is flawless, the planes of his face exquisite. Draco can see the magnificent sweep of his dark lashes from here, and his eyes look — well. They’re looking right at him. Draco feels his mouth drop open, just a fraction, feels Pansy lock a vice grip on his arm as his tongue sweeps out over his lips of its own volition. The sounds of the boy’s perfect voice fill the air between them, the air of the whole stadium, and the screams and shouts seem to fade away to nothing in Draco’s ears.

As soon as it begins the moment ends, the boy turning and sweeping away to enchant another section of fans. Draco is dumbstruck. Pansy is shouting in his ear.

“Did you see? Did you _see_ ? He was looking straight at you!” Draco turns to her, unable to form a coherent thought in his head. _Merlin_ , he mouths. He can’t think of anything more to say.

The boy comes to sing to them several times, never for more than a few moments, but every time he’s near his eyes lock with Draco’s. Draco is partially convinced that the boy must be part Veela, though his dark hair and eyes are a far cry from the dominant white-blond of Veela stock. Plus, he’s a Muggle. Draco keeps trying to remind himself of this. A _Muggle_ . Things may have changed for Draco during the war, and he may have finally overcome his prejudices against Muggle-borns, but a full-on Muggle? That is surely, definitely, _absolutely_ taking things a bit too far.

 

“I have to meet him,” he tells Pansy, as soon as the concert ends. The band has disappeared for good, and cold electrical lights have come on above them. She laughs at him and stands, gathering her things. “No — Pansy. _Pansy._ ” He grabs her hand, and she turns toward him.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Draco Malfoy,” she drawls, smirking. “You surprise me. I could have sworn that just last week you told me that you ‘just would never understand my interest in this ridiculous Muggle singing group.’” Draco sighs.

“I surprise myself, frankly. Though in my defense, I only understand your interest in one _member_ of — ”

“Oh, stop pretending not to like them, Draco. Fortunately, Mr. Besotted-With-A-Muggle, I have an idea. Come with me.”

 

It’s not difficult to sneak their way into the meet-and-greet. Well, it’s not difficult because they both have wands, and Pansy inexplicably knows exactly where to go. They produce their ‘tickets’ — scraps of paper combined with a subtly-applied Confundus charm — to the security guards, and walk right in. There’s a queue snaking away in front of them, and fans are being escorted to the next room by ones and twos and threes.

By the time they are halfway through the line, Draco realizes that this is a terribly bad idea. He whispers as much to Pansy.

“It occurs to me, Pansy, that this is a terribly bad idea.” Pansy gives him a look. It’s very stern.

“Don’t be daft, Draco. We’re not leaving _now_ , we’re so close. Anyway, I want a photo.” She produces a little camera from her hand bag, which Draco eyes warily.

“But Pansy — he’s a _Muggle_.”

“Yes. You already knew that, we discussed it.”

“I know. But I just — ”

“Oh, _Draco_. C’mon,” she says, tugging his arm. They’re nearing the front of the line. “He’ll love you. They’re _Muggles_ , how hard can it be?” She leans up on her tip-toes and places a quick kiss on his cheek. Draco can’t help but feel that she has completely misunderstood him.

 

The other four boys all greet them with an energy that surprises Draco, given the amount of running around and shouting and sweating they’d been doing on stage, but the one with the inexplicable Veela powers hangs back a bit. Still, the beautiful boy and Draco end up next to one another for the photos, and the boy wraps his arm around Draco’s thin shoulders as they all pose for the camera. The little puff of purple smoke that Pansy’s camera emits shocks the photographer — apparently Muggle cameras don’t do that. In the ensuing moment of hubbub while Pansy draws herself up and smoothly explains away the camera’s completely normal smokey output, Draco feels the boy’s arm trail down his back until his hand is just touching the top of his arse — which is, Draco remembers, on full display in these ridiculous denim trousers. The boy is wearing the same kind of trousers, but with rips over the knees. Draco thinks he could probably, as a pop star, afford new clothing without holes, but he doesn’t mind much. The boy has gorgeous knees.

As the photos wrap up, Pansy looks over from charming a lanky boy with long, curly hair, and winks knowingly. Draco starts, remembering why he’d wanted to come here in the first place, and turns to the boy. He finds himself completely unable to speak, let alone flirt, let alone convince the boy to come home with him or whatever terrible half-baked plan he’d had when he demanded Pansy bring him here. The boy doesn’t speak to him, either, just holds his gaze for a long moment before the bulky security guards usher them away. Draco feels like he can’t breathe as they walk down the hall leading away from the photo room, and Pansy is punching him in the arm for being _such a flobberworm, sometimes, honestly Draco_ when he’s stopped in his tracks by an enormous hand on his shoulder.

“Wanted me to give you this,” says the huge Muggle man attached to the hand, when Draco turns around. He hands over a slip of paper and turns to go without another word. Draco looks blankly at the paper in his hand until Pansy snatches it out of his loose grip to read it.

“Right,” she says, smugly. “This is the name of a club. We’re going out. No — no arguments, Mr. Malfoy. Trust me. This is going to be _awesome_.” Draco shudders at the American phrasing and lets himself be tugged along.

 

It’s just as easy to get into the VIP section of Cirque le Soir as it was to get into the meet-and-greet, and Draco is starting to think that socializing in the Muggle world might have some advantages when he sees the One Direction boys draped over a large semi-circle of velvet couches, along with a handful of other well-dressed and beautiful individuals. Zayn is there — Pansy’s told Draco his name by now – and when their eyes meet he waves them over. Pansy drops onto the couch between the awfully young-looking blonde and the short one, who is glaring daggers at Draco as he sits carefully in the space Zayn has cleared next to him.

“I’m glad you came,” says Zayn, holding his hand out for a shake. Draco takes it. He’s momentarily baffled by the boy’s accent — it just seems so out of place, almost vulgar, that Bradford twang coming out of such an aristocratic mouth — but he quickly ceases to care. It has been a long time since _his_ particular brand of well-bred articulation has brought him anything other than trouble, anyway. It’s not until he notices Zayn staring at him pointedly that Draco realizes he’s forgotten to respond.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he says hastily. “I don’t believe I introduced myself properly, at the, er, meet and greet. I’m Draco.”

“Draco? What kind of name is _that?_ ” Draco frowns.

“What kind of name is Zayn?”

“It’s Pakistani.”

“Oh, well. Mine’s, er. Draco. It’s after a constellation.” Draco wonders for a moment if he shouldn’t have come up with some kind of fake name. Something common. _Dave_ , he thinks. But it’s too late.

“Oh. That’s cool. You’re really hot, you know.”

“Oh.” Draco feels his face reddening. “Thanks.” He hasn’t often been called attractive since before the war — not by anyone other than Pansy, actually, who likes to fluff his ego sometimes. She always says that it’s just because people are _afraid_ to tell him he’s fit, but Draco has never really believed her. He takes a great gulp of the Muggle drink Pansy had ordered for him. It’s sweet, and hardly tastes of alcohol at all.

“No problem,” Zayn is saying, a lazy smile creeping across his perfect features. Draco loses his breath just a little bit.

“So where’d Zayn pick _you_ up, Draco?”

This loud and unwelcome interjection comes from a long-limbed, dark-haired man to Draco’s right. When Draco turns to him, he sees a smirk tugging at the corner of the man’s mouth. It reminds him a little of the look Blaise Zambini always used to maintain, back when he saw Blaise regularly. For a moment Draco feels cornered, as he always does when people ask him questions these days. He spends a moment trying to remind himself that this isn’t an inquisition or a Wizengamot trial — this is a _party_ . And then he realizes — this is a party with people who have _no idea_ about his past, no idea that he’s a social pariah, who have never heard of a Malfoy or the Dark Lord or any of it — they don’t even know that they’re Muggles, for Merlin’s sake.

“Who says he’s the one who did the picking-up?” Draco flutters his eyelashes coyly at the lanky man. It's a weak effort, but it works. The stranger laughs. Draco grins back. He can do this. He can do parties.

 

Their gathering grows, and then moves from Cirque le Soir to another VIP lounge at another bar, this one with a back room where Muggles are purposefully inhaling a mysterious white powder that someone has poured on a table. They offer some to Draco — he declines, no Muggle drugs for him, thank-you-very-much-but-there- _are-_ limits — and tell him he’s fit and laugh when he wants to smoke a cigarette but can’t work out how to use the lighter.

The tall stranger Draco had spoken to at the last bar introduces him to the long-haired band member, who smiles a lot and speaks incredibly slowly. They’ve been chatting aimlessly for awhile — Draco is feeling quite smug about how well he’s doing at not talking about magic — when the one from the band, Harry, whips something out of his back pocket. Draco recoils a bit, startled by the flat box with an unnatural blue glow emanating from the top, but the other Muggle, Nick, doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong, so Draco forces himself to relax. Harry taps his thumbs on the blue light for a moment, then looks right at Draco.

“What’s your number, Dray-co?” He’s been saying it like that, as if Draco’s name is a private joke. It’s long since ceased to annoy him.

“My…my number?” It must be some Muggle slang. Draco can’t remember anything Pansy’s told him that could have prepared him for this question. He wishes wildly, for the first time in his life, that he’d taken a Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts.

“You know, your mobile number.” Harry waves the funny box at him. “So I can give you a text. Maybe we can hang out.”

“Er — ” Draco says, uncertainly.

“But don’t you know it, Draco?” It’s Nick, who seems highly amused. He’s stayed near Draco all evening, but Draco can’t quite tell if Nick likes him or is trying to control his movement. Sometimes it feels like he’s herding him, a bit. Draco looks around for Pansy, but she’s no where in sight.

“Where’s Pansy?” he asks desperately.

“Your friend?” Harry smiles. “I think she left awhile ago with Niall.” Draco remembers, suddenly, seeing her dangling off the young-looking blond, her other arm around the waist of a leggy, dark-skinned brunette as she disappeared into the crowd.

“You don’t know your own number, Draco?” Nick is grinning, or maybe leering, at him. Draco steadies himself. _You can do this_ , he thinks to himself. _They’re only Muggles_. He improvises.

“Er — eighty…seven?” It’s his flat number, which is the only thing he can think of. Both Nick and Harry burst into laughter. Had it worked?

“You’re hilarious, Draco,” Harry is saying. “Here, I’ll just give you mine, and you can give me a text whenever you like.” He scrawls a long number onto a napkin from the bar, and hands it over. Draco stares at it.

“Have mine, too,” Nick says, grabbing the napkin away. When he’s done with it, he tucks it into the nipple-pocket of Draco’s shirt.

“Right. Thanks.” He supposes the man likes him after all.

 

Draco finds Zayn again some time later, out on the balcony. He looks like he’s waiting, and watches Draco’s approach from behind a cigarette. He’s quite as beautiful as ever even with the liquor having taken some of the shine out of his eyes. When Draco comes close, he drops the cigarette over the railing and reaches out without preamble, pulling Draco towards him by the funny loops on the waist of his tight Muggle trousers.

“You really are fit, you know,” he says, and pulls Draco in for a kiss. The boy cannot be said to be subtle, or shy, but Draco finds that he really, really doesn’t mind.

They kiss there for a while before Zayn suggests that they move elsewhere. Draco barely resists the temptation to Apparate them back to the flat. Instead he lets himself be swept into a black Muggle automobile driven by a complete stranger and brought on a terrifying journey through Muggle London to a posh hotel where Zayn pushes him onto the bed and fucks the living daylight out of him. It’s been a long time since Draco has been touched like that. Zayn puts a funny rubbery sleeve on his cock. They go through several of them before they finally run out of energy. The sky is lightening to grey when they fall asleep curled around one another, sweaty and sated.

 

“Was your night as good as mine?” Pansy asks him smugly, when Draco finally arrives back at the flat late Saturday afternoon.

“Well, I — yes.”

Draco’s brain is fuzzy. He turns to go into the kitchen and Pansy follows him, crossing her arms and leaning against the threshold while she watches him rummage through the cabinets.

“It’s dead centre there on the bottom shelf, Draco.”

“Right. Thanks.” He takes a swig of their Hangover Draught, and sighs in relief as the heavy cloud lifts from behind his eyes and his stomach stops rolling with nausea.

“So you fucked him?” Pansy loves to get right to the juicy bits. Draco rolls his eyes.

“Yes.”

“ _And_?”

“What do you mean, _and_?”

“Well — what was it like?”

“Oh. Fine. He put a funny rubber sock on his prick.”

“They do that. I think it takes the place of a protection charm.”

“Really? Well, I still used a charm, obviously. I thought it was some sort of kink. It can’t feel as good with one of those on, can it? He had a lubricating potion too, but it wasn’t as good as the real thing, of course.”

“Of course. And?”

“And what?”

“How was _he_ , Draco?”

“Oh.” Draco can feel himself blushing. “He was — ”

“Spit it out.”

“Ugh. Fantastic. Probably the best.” Pansy smirks so hard it looks as though her lips are going to fly off her face. Draco rolls his eyes again and tries not to smile back. “Oh, and I got these,” he says, suddenly remembering. He digs his hands into his pockets and withdraws the crumpled bit of napkin that Nick and Harry had written on. That morning, Zayn had given him another number, which is written on the back of a receipt. “Do you have any idea what these are for?” Pansy looks at them for a moment, frowning, and then snaps her fingers delightedly.

“Oh, I know! Did they have phone?” Draco stares at her blankly. “A funny little box? That they spoke into?”

“Yes. No. Well, Harry had a — a box, but he was mostly tapping his fingers on it. He didn’t talk to it.”

“Oh, well, that sounds right, I’ve seen them doing that in the cafes. It was probably a phone. They’re like little computers,” she says knowledgeably. “They use them to send each other messages. Sort of like owls, except the messages go to space first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Muggles,” Pansy says with a shrug.

 

By Monday night, Draco has a phone, and Pansy has helped him add the numbers for Harry, Zayn, and Nick. She’s quite good with Muggle electronics these days. After a single look at the garbled alphabet organization scheme Draco nearly throws the thing across the room, but Pansy shows him how to talk to the phone so that it’ll write out his messages for him. It’s rather clever, really, almost like a Quick Quotes Quill. He spends a bit of time drafting his messages on paper, and then speaks slowly and carefully to the phone. Clever though it may be, it’s not _quite_ as good as the real thing.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_Thanks ever so much for the drinks and conversation this past Friday. Forgive me for the repetition, but your performance was truly delightful. It is my sincerest hope that I will have the chance to see another of your shows soon. Perhaps when you are in London next, we can arrange to go out again. I have purchased a phone — please feel free to contact me via space whenever suits you._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

_Dear Nick,_

_Thanks ever so much for the drinks and conversation this past Friday. Without your guiding hand, who knows how my night might have gone. You mentioned brunch when last we spoke — I would be delighted to accept your invitation. I have purchased a phone; please contact me here freely via space and I will respond as quickly as I am able._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

_Dear Zayn,_

_Thank you again for a truly unforgettable night this past Friday. I’m sure that you are spoiled for choice as regards company, and am honoured that you chose to spend the evening with me. If you find yourself in London again and are so inclined, please feel free to contact me here. I am sure that I will be amenable to a repeat of Friday’s activities, regardless of time, weather, or circumstance._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

Draco is cooking when the phone chimes and buzzes angrily at him from the counter, making him jump and splatter red sauce across his front. He curses before carefully wiping his hands and spelling away the offending mess, then walks carefully over to the phone. He pokes at it until he gets the message to show up on the screen.

 

_Dearest Draco!!!_

_You text like a Jane Austen character. Where did you COME from?? Brunch Thursday? I get off work at 10:30. Meet me outside the BBC? I’ll introduce you to the crew, looks like Florence will be in town._

_Your Obedient Servant, VIA SPACE,_

_Nick_

 

Draco decides he’ll have to wait for Pansy’s help to make sense of the message. As he cooks the phone buzzes and chimes a couple more times, and he doesn’t jump quite so much.

 

_Thanks . In Helsinki tonight, had Klimp for dinner . They were good . Why’d u text like that ?? will text when in London . See you . -H_

 

_ur strange, but fit as hell. had fun fri. ill fly back this wknd_

 

Draco doesn’t know what was so strange about his texts. They were certainly more civilized than the garbled mess he got from Zayn. He’s a bit concerned about Zayn’s spelling, actually, but decides that his articulateness — or extreme lack thereof — is ultimately irrelevant to their weekend plans. His stomach flips a little bit over the knowledge that _that_ is happening again, and pointedly ignores the part of his mind that is wondering, _when did you turn into someone who would be excited over spending time with a Muggle, Draco?_

When he tells Pansy about it, she’s delighted.

“When did _you_ turn into someone who’d be excited over spending time with a Muggle, Draco?” She asks, but he can tell she doesn’t expect an answer, so he just shrugs. “This is great. I wish Niall had given me his number, but I suppose there _were_ rather a lot of us. Do you think I can come to brunch?” Draco doesn’t see why not, so he invites her.

 

Brunch is lovely. Nick and his friends seem to think Draco is hilarious, even though he spends a lot of time confused by their Muggle nonsense-talk and Pansy keeps kicking him under the table whenever he accidentally mentions something magical. Apparently that covers many more topics than he'd realized. The entire weekend in Zayn’s hotel room — even more opulent than last time — is even lovelier. Draco wonders how a Muggle could get to England from Swedenso quickly, but Zayn doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal, so Draco doesn’t press.

 

It’s about two days after Draco returns to the flat after his second tryst with Zayn — completely rumpled, and completely unrepentant in the face of Pansy’s pointed remarks and sly grins — that Pansy comes home from the Muggle cafe with that glow in her eyes.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re a Blind Item.”

“What? I’m not blind, Pansy. What are you talking about?”

“Not blind. A Blind _Item_ . Honestly, Draco, if you’re going to be hanging about with Muggles you’re going to have to at least _try_ to learn some of the vocabulary.” Pansy pulls her computer out of her bag and opens it, spinning it towards him to show him a block of text. Draco squints at the blue-bright screen.

=================

_Just weeks after dumping his long-suffering fiancé — by text, no less — this boyband bad boy is once again the subject of lascivious rumours. If THESE ones are true, it’s even juicier than his usual antics. One thing’s for sure — there will be hoards of screaming fangirls ready to slay THIS dragon._

 

_Boybander :_

_Ex-Fiance :_

_BONUS_

_His New Paramour :_

=================

“What is this?”

“What do you think? It’s about you and Zayn!” Draco glances through the text again before looking up at Pansy, disbelieving.

“Am I…the dragon?”

 


	2. Nobody Compares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Most of the articles in this chapter (with the exception of the two tumblr posts, the last feature, and the twitter trend list) are edited versions of real articles. Citations at the end of the chapter. You can assume that anything written about Draco Malfoy was not in the original. Thanks @aaoch1, who put this chapter together! How on-point are the tumblr posts? P:

=================

_iwanttomalikzayn_

**Zake?????**

Okay, do you guys remember that dude we were all calling Martini Man? The hot blond guy who was seen out partying with everyone after the last show in London on June 6? Remember him?

ANYWAY. WOW. I was doing some digging and I think…omg I think he’s the dragon from BG.

Okay, so we’ve all seen the pictures from inside the club. And I don’t think there’s any debate that MM is peripherally in some of the pap pics outside as well. But there’s more.

I was looking at meet and greet pictures from the June 6th show, like you do, and I found this one ( **x** ) on what seems like a pretty small blog. But look at it. LOOK WHO IT IS. No, not in the meet and greet, on the left. See??? Recognize that profile? That HAIR??? That’s totally MM. So I sent a message to the blog, and she doesn’t really remember him that much, just noticed that there was a guy in line behind her. Otherwise, she was way too busy hyperventilating about meeting the boys to be scoping out her fellow fans, which. FAIR.

So idk if this guy is a fan, or an old friend, or what. But he was definitely at the concert and at the meet and greet.

Then, obvi, he went out with the boys, etc. etc. etc.

I went into full investigative mode at that point, and eventually found this tweet ( **x** ). If you can’t be bothered to click the link, it says, “omg just saw the hottest guy coming out of this hotel.” This girl was waiting outside the hotel Zayn and Louis were staying at, and she tweeted this at like 9:30 on the morning of the 7th. So I ended up DMing with her and she described the guy, said he was tall, blond, super hot, and wearing BLACK SKINNY JEANS AND A BLACK SHIRT. Sound familiar? Yup. I stg MM stayed at the same hotel as Zouis.

So then Zayn’s back on tour, but remember that quick trip back to London after the Copenhagen shows? The one where we only saw him at the airport and then not again until he magically appeared on stage in Paris? And then right afterwards…BOOM Blind Item saying he’s hooking up with a Dragon. (still never getting over the fanart that inspired…)

SO I know it seems crazy, but I feel so sure that MM is the Dragon. And like…I never thought Zayn was gay either but like??? He breaks up with Perrie and immediately this?? I searched, and if the Dragon thing is a pun on his name this guy could be called Dragul or Drago or Drake. I’m going to assume Drake, for obvious reasons.

 

#zake #is the ship name I'm going with

 

=================

 

_E!STYLE[collective]_

**NEWS/ See All the Stars at the 2014 British Fashion Awards: Rihanna, Cara Delevigne, Kendall Jenner & More!**

_Britain's biggest night in fashion is finally here! And as expected, some of the most important names in style took to the red carpet in seriously chic attire._

 

Really, all eyes are on the 2014 British Fashion Awards red carpet: Held at the London Coliseum, the ceremony honors the most forward-thinking designers, models and plain ol' good dressers who have made an impact across the pond.

First we have to give it to **Rihanna** , who consistently bests herself in barely there style. The songstress sported an oversize tuxedo jacket, towering ankle-strap sandals, a diamond choker and (very) little else.

We also can't take our eyes of models **Cara Delevingne** and **Kendall Jenner** : Both of these statuesque ladies stood out on the red carpet in statement ensembles. Cara D—tonight's winner of the Best Model trophy—wore a shimmering, slit-to-there Burberry gown with sexy black side panels, while Kendall let her svelte figure do the talking in a black-and-white jumpsuit.

...

Openly gay BBC Radio 1 Breakfast Show host **Nicholas Grimshaw** took to the red carpet with not one but two handsome men on his arm – long-time friend and One Direction heartthrob **Harry Styles** , wearing a bold pinstriped Lanvin design, and a mysterious blond newcomer who looked more than dashing in a slim cut Baartmans and Siegel suit. E! Style can exclusively report that the blond stunner’s name is **Draco Malfoy** , and we’d be willing to bet our favourite Milli Millu that this won’t be the last you see of him.

 

Other stars in attendance included **Emma Watson** , **Victoria** and **David Beckham** , **Anna Wintour** , **John Galliano** , **Karlie Kloss** , **Anna Kendrick** , **Rita Ora** , **Alexa Chung** , **Lily Allen** , **Naomie Harris** and **Suki Waterhouse**.

 

=================

 

NEWS

**New pictures emerge of Noel Gallagher, Kate Moss and co. partying in Moray**

New pictures have emerged of a-list celebrities such as Noel Gallagher, Kate Moss and Nick Grimshaw partying at Craigellachie Hotel this weekend. They were joined by friends Pixie Geldorf, Sadie Frost, and Draco Malfoy.

Nutritionist and former model Rose Ferguson was celebrating her 40th birthday at the resort and had a star-studded guest list.

 

=================

 

FASHION

**London Fashion Week: House of Holland unveils digital innovation during hedonistic collection display brimming with psychedelic prints**

_Designer Henry Holland chose London Fashion Week as the platform on which unveil a new digital innovation which offered a glimpse into the future of fashion retail._

 

During his House of Holland catwalk show yesterday, the designer showcased a technology first - created in collaboration with Visa - which could allow customers to purchase clothes straight from the catwalk.

Enlisting the help of famous friends **Alexa Chung** and **Daisy Lowe** , the concept, involving a micro-chipped ring which could enable contactless payments to be made when it touched items from the new collection, was demonstrated live on the catwalk.

Holland, a designer who has forged a career out of creating fashion which is both fun and accessible, has long been one of the most commercially savvy labels on the fashion week schedule - a fact which was proven by his latest money-making venture, funded by Visa Europe Collab.

Joining Chung and Lowe on the front row were **Nick Grimshaw** , **Poppy Delevingne** , **Draco Malfoy** , and **Nicola Roberts** who watched the show alongside the designer's mother. Holland was spotted in deep conversation with the statuesque Malfoy shortly after the show…might we hope for a fresh new face of Holland’s menswear collection next year?

 

=================

 

 **Swift exit for Styles: Harry sneaks out back of nightclub looking dapper in his unbuttoned peach shirt and black fedora hat  
**   
Everywhere Harry Styles goes, hundreds of screaming girls chase after him in a starstruck frenzy.

 

So it was understandable that there was only One Direction this 20-year-old lad wanted to go: through a secret exit to avoid yet another fan stampede.

After partying into the early hours of Thursday morning with his friends, Harry nipped out the back of London's prestigious nightclub The Box in Soho.

Harry and his close friend Draco Malfoy looked to be in high spirits as they ran from the back door of the nightclub to a waiting towncar, clutching at each other as they stumbled their way to the car just ahead of an advancing group of waiting fans.

They were accompanied by a pretty brunette in an open back dress and sky high heels…a new love interest for Harry, perhaps?

=================

 

**Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw flaunt bromance in coordinated clothes at Topman launch**

_Singer Harry Styles cemented his bromance with Nick Grimshaw as he colour coordinated with the DJ at the launch of his new Topman collection._

 

Styles, 21, was sporting an unbuttoned monochrome shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans which he accessorised with a neck tie fashioned from the fabric of Grimshaw’s shirt.

The One Direction member was in attendance at the private dinner at Odette's in Primrose Hill to help celebrate the Radio One DJ's latest fashion venture.

The pair posed for several photos together and mingled with guests including Topshop boss Sir Philip Green.

Styles was clearly putting the recent One Direction split rumours behind him as he enjoyed a night out in London.

It was reported that the world famous boy band were to break temporarily in November following the release of their fifth album, but a representative for the band his since denied the claims, branding them "pure speculation".

Also at last night's event was Daisy Lowe, 26, who looked stunning in a black lace dress from Topshop Unique's AW15 collection which she teamed with nude fishnets and black high waisted shorts.

Draco Malfoy, close friend to Styles and Grimshaw, looked effortlessly elegant in a bold patterned jacket, form hugging white tee emblazoned with “Puppy” (in loving memory of Grimshaw’s deceased pet), and slim fitting black slacks. Grimshaw has confirmed that Malfoy will be the face of Nick Grimshaw for Topman, saying, “He really embodies what the collection’s about. For me, it’s about being young, and fashionable, and bold, but still totally accessible and fun and real. That’s everything Draco is, and he really understands and pulls off all the pieces. It’s a real pleasure to work with him.”

Pixie Geldof - who looked summery in a floral dress with heels fashioned with pink fluff - was accompanied by her long term boyfriend, and model, George Barnett.

The pair were pictured catching up with Jupiter Ascending actor Douglas Booth and sports agent Dave Gardner.

=================

 

_fuckyeahdracomalfoy_

**Welcome to FuckYeahDracoMalfoy!**

 

We have been following the rise of the one and only Draco Malfoy since he was known only as Martini Man, but with the announcement that he is going to be the face of Nick Grimshaw for Topman (!!!!!!) we knew it was time to give him a blog of his very own!

This blog will be all about the doings of the super hot and amazing Draco Malfoy, from doing his socialite thing to modeling to whatever else he gets up to!

This is a purely Draco-positive space, we won’t tolerate any hate, and we’ll block anyone who tries.

We’ll probably change it as we go but these are the tags we are starting with:

 _Drarry_ : Draco and Harry Styles

 _Malshaw_ : Draco and Nick Grimshaw

 _Drayn_ : Draco and Zayn Malik

 _Draco + friends_ : Draco and any of his other friends!

 _modeling_ : pictures of Draco modelling (literally praying for a shirtless photoshoot PLEASE)

 _news_ : articles about Draco

 _events_ : Draco on the red carpet!

We’ll also be tagging by date, and making new tags for any big events. 

Can’t wait to see what our favorite boy does next!!!

 

#draco malfoy #one direction #harry styles #zayn malik #nick grimshaw #fashion #if you want to be a moderator send us an ask and we’ll talk

=================

 

**FEATURE: MEET DRACO MALFOY**

Draco Malfoy – hard to believe that less than a year ago none of us had heard his name. Now this man-about-town is the newest face of Yves Saint Laurent, and when he isn’t too busy playing bestie to the stars he has also found time to pose for Topman, Burberry, Diesel, and even, to our great delight, Calvin Klein. There are also rumours that Draco will be walking for Henry Holland at London Fashion Week this year, although both men play coy when asked.

When not wooing designers with his flawless figure and piercing grey eyes, Draco can be found at every hotspot in London surrounded by his bevvy of fabulous friends. He counts radio DJ Nick Grimshaw, boybander Harry Styles, and legendary fashion designer Christopher Bailey among his nearest and dearest. He was even seen enjoying a casual pint with Prince Harry – Britain’s own royal playboy. When he’s not falling out of nightclubs, or somehow looking perfectly dapper at brunch the following day, Draco seems to enjoy being a mystery and an enigma. Little is known about this fashionista’s antecedents, but if his famously formal texting and flawless manners are anything to go by, he’s probably used to rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful.

So what’s next for Draco? Acting? Politics? Whatever it is, we’ll be watching with bated breath (and fluttering hearts).

What do you think? Is Draco Malfoy a flash in the pan or a lasting success? Let us know in the comments!

=================

 

 **Global Twitter Trends** _5 June 2015_

 

**#HappyBirthdayDracoMalfoy**

20.3M Tweets

 

**#Greece**

5.1M Tweets

 

**#Earthquake**

80.9K Tweets

 

**#IfIWereACat**

66.9K Tweets

 

**#ChinaHack**

49.7K Tweets

=================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Article sources:
> 
> “See All the Stars at the 2014 British Fashion Awards,” http://www.eonline.com/news/602393/see-all-the-stars-at-the-2014-british-fashion-awards-rihanna-cara-delevingne-kendall-jenner-more 
> 
> “New pictures emerge of Noel Gallagher, Kate Moss and co. partying in Moray,” https://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/fp/news/moray/469838/new-pictures-emerge-noel-gallagher-kate-moss-co-partying-moray/ 
> 
> “London Fashion Week: House of Holland unveils digital innovation during hedonistic collection display brimming with psychedelic prints,” http://www.standard.co.uk/fashion/london-fashion-week-house-of-holland-unveils-hedonistic-collection-brimming-with-psychedelic-prints-a2951491.html 
> 
> “Swift exit for Styles: Harry sneaks out back of nightclub looking dapper in his unbuttoned peach shirt and black fedora hat,” http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2860419/Harry-Styles-sneaks-nightclub-looking-dapper-unbuttoned-peach-shirt-black-fedora-hat.html 
> 
> “Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw flaunt bromance in coordinated clothes at Topman launch,” http://www.standard.co.uk/showbiz/celebrity-news/harry-styles-cements-nick-grimshaw-bromance-in-coordinated-clothing-for-his-topman-launch-10299532.html


	3. Fireproof

It’s really only a matter of time before Draco’s activities in the Muggle world are bound to attract someone’s attention. That someone turns out to be one Harry Potter, who Draco really thinks _must_ have better things to do with his time. He’s hardly one to judge, however, because when the Saviour of the wizarding world confronts him he’s standing in Oxford Circus, taking a photo of an enormous Yves Saint-Laurens ad featuring him to post on Instagram. He’s just found the perfect angle and framing when a voice from behind him makes him jump so badly that he drops his phone. He may have learned to use them, but the damn things seem to be about as interested in being held as a Blast-Ended-Skrewt is in a cuddle.

“Malfoy.” Draco bends over to pick up his phone. He sighs — he’ll have to _Reparo_ the glass screen again. “Malfoy,” the voice says again. Draco looks up, a bit annoyed. Then his annoyance is replaced by surprise.

“ _Potter?_ What are you doing here?” Potter is looking very shabby, as usual, but fitting in quite well with his faded jeans, t-shirt, and a worn leather jacket. Potter is such an enormous figure in the wizarding world that Draco sometimes forgets that he grew up like a Muggle. Today, he has a very determined expression on his face, and he takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well,” Draco drawls, waving at the shattered screen of his phone, “As you can see, I’m just out and about, playing with my Muggle phone. I have an _Instagram_ now, have you heard of that?” His enthusiasm for Muggle technology is an embarrassment, but he can’t seem to contain it. In any case, Potter is not to be distracted.

“What,” he says, pointing over Draco’s shoulder at the enormous poster of Draco posing against a grey backdrop, “Is _that_ , Malfoy?” Draco takes a leaf out of Pansy’s book and draws himself up a bit, trying to look stern.

“That is an ad for trousers, Potter.”

“But — you’re not even wearing a _shirt_ in it.”

“Well, it _is_ for trousers, as I said.”

“It’s a _Muggle_ ad. In _Muggle London_.” Draco just looks at Potter, and waits for him to say something that might require a response. When he remains silent, Draco turns and walks down a slightly less busy side street. He’s tired of people grumbling as they press around them on the sidewalk. He hears Potter sigh loudly and then jog up behind him before grabbing the wrist of Draco’s coat and turning him around. “It’s — you don’t _like_ Muggles, Malfoy. As you might remember.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Correction: I didn’t _used_ to like Muggles. Of course most of them are horrible, just like any other large group of people, and they have the most absurd ways of doing things.” He waves his shattered phone back and forth as an example. “Still, modeling — even for Muggle designers — is certainly more enjoyable than process serving, so I’m suffering through.” This only seems to serve to wind Potter up more, whose fist tightens hard on Draco’s sleeve before he drops it and takes a hurried step back. Perhaps he’d finally noticed how unnecessarily close he had been standing.

“Maybe the Muggles have fallen for you, but _I_ still remember who you _really_ are,” he says, angrily. “What are you _up_ to, Malfoy?” Draco just rolls his eyes. He isn’t in the mood to deal with Potter today. With a sudden thrill he realizes he really doesn’t _have_ to, and with a bright smile he Disapparates right there on the street. Let Potter sort _that_ out.

He’s relaxing with a glass of port, texting with Nick and Harry (the curly-haired one, not the scarred one) and planning a dinner party, when he’s interrupted by an owl tapping at the window. His mother is the only person who really owls Draco anymore, but this isn’t her owl, and when he unravels the little scroll of parchment he has to laugh. Is Harry Potter’s handwriting really _that_ atrocious?

 

_Malfoy,_

_Not funny, your little stunt today. Took me thirty minutes to Obliviate all the Muggles who saw. You’re lucky I didn’t report you._

_You should leave the Muggles alone. Let me assure you that your activities are not going unnoticed by the DMLE._

_-H.P._

 

Draco gives the little owl a treat, and then sends it on its way without a response. Even if Potter _had_ reported it, public Apparation would only incur a small fine. He’s glad he won’t have to make a visit to the Wizengamot to pay a ticket, but otherwise he hasn’t done anything in the least illegal. Whether or not the Aurors have decided to waste their already thinly-spread resources to keep an eye on Draco’s ascent to minor Muggle stardom interests him not at all. He can’t stop them, so there’s no point thinking about it. He sits down and gets into an argument with Nick and Harry about venue for their party and soon completely forgets about the note, which is slowly curling into ash in the fireplace.

 

Unfortunately for Draco, Potter _doesn’t_ forget, and apparently cannot fathom that Draco may have entirely innocent, enjoying-the-fame-and-sleeping-with-gorgeous-pop-stars reasons for continuing his movements in the Muggle world. He sometimes sees Potter — just a flash of that ridiculous hair, or a quick glimpse of his emerald green eyes — when he’s out in Muggle London or attending events. He ignores the intrusions, but he can’t help but suspect that at some point things are going to escalate. However as he can’t do anything about that, either, he tries not to worry about it to much.

 

Draco is at the dinner party when it happens — Styles has booked the whole of the Chiltern Firehouse for the evening. Draco is drinking and laughing with Lou, Harry, and Michael Mayren. Everything is going swimmingly well. Florence is holding court near the bar, and Nick is gossiping with Kendall in one of the corner booths while waitstaff prepare the long table that has been set up in the center of the dining room. Soon everyone drifts towards the table and takes their seat. The food is exquisite, the conversation flows easily — it’s a triumph of a dinner party, rivaling even those the Malfoys hosted when Draco was young.

Nick is deflecting Kendall’s pointed questions about who the newest judge on X-Factor might be when there's a bit of a commotion outside. Draco looks at the door with the same vague bemusement as everyone else, his wine half-lifted to his lips. And then Harry Potter bursts in. He’s red in the face and looking quite ridiculous, his wand in one hand and his jewel-blue robes balled up in the other, wearing hideous straight-cut jeans. Potter never _has_ understood fashion. It’s just one of the things Draco has never been able to forgive him. The Auror’s expression is a bit…unnerving. Dangerous. A small, cold tickle of fear licks at the pit of Draco’s stomach, and he sets his glass down as calmly as he can while Potter looks wildly around at the alarmed dinner party. Draco is glad he decided to bring his wand.

“Potter,” he says, drawling in the way that always seems to wind Potter up. It works — Potter’s wild eyes fly from Kendall and lock on him instead. “What are you doing here?” Draco can feel the eyes of everyone in the room focus on him. He smirks. Of course, Potter isn’t expecting Draco to be calm and collected in the wake of his appalling entrance, and is rendered completely inarticulate.

“What’s the — what am _I_ doing here?”

“Yes. I don’t remember your being on the guest list.”

“ _Guest_ list?”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed,” Draco says, gesturing grandly at the shocked revelers and the half-eaten plates of food, “You’ve rather interrupted dinner.”

“What are _you_ up to, Malfoy? What’s the meaning of this?” Potter is looking quite out of control, and Draco stands so that he at least doesn’t have to look _up_ at that preposterous expression.

“Meaning? It’s dinner. It doesn’t _have_ a meaning, Potter.”

“But you — you don’t — ”

“I assure you I eat, Potter. I’m not a vampire.” Tittering laughter breaks out around him, and Draco doesn’t bother to fight his own smile.

“You don’t — you’re not supposed to eat dinner with _Muggles_ ,” Potter says, gesturing at Nick, who looks offended.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean by _Muggle_ , Potter, but — ”

“Don’t tell me you’re not up to something, Malfoy. I know you.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m not.”

“I _know_ you.”

“Did Shacklebolt send you, Potter? Is this…er, _mission_ …Ministry-approved?” Potter’s self-righteous expression drops a bit. It tells Draco all he needs to know. “Ah. You did always think yourself rather above the rules, didn’t you?”

“I don’t need — ”

“I’m fairly certain this is _exactly_ the sort of thing your… _handlers_ would like to know about, actually,” Draco says mildly, examining his cuticles.

“You — “

“I rather think you should leave, Potter,” Draco says. He’s replaced his mild tone with ice, and his expression hardens to match. “Don’t you?”

Potter’s face contorts with something like rage, and when he lashes out with his wand Draco is expecting it. Ignoring Kendall’s high-pitched shriek, he shouts “ _Protego!_ ” and casts a shield over the table before the spell has a chance to make contact. It richochets and shatters a lamp. “You’re a fool, Potter,” Draco spits out. “Now they’ll be coming for us.”

Potter curses and attempts to cast a full-body bind, but Draco leaps out of the way. The other members of the dinner party leapt back from their seats at the first flash of magic from Harry’s wand, and are cowering at the walls as Draco leaps around the table to face him head-on. Draco isn’t sure whether his friends look more terrified of Potter, or him. It only serves to fuel his anger.

“Is this your grand plan, then, to duel me in a Muggle restaurant? Dramatic, Potter. But you could have chosen somewhere more high-profile. Perhaps Trafalgar Square?” Draco Shields against a _Stupefy_ , and then with a flick of his wrist, shouts “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Potter gapes as his wand arcs away from him, and Draco catches it smoothly just as the air crackles and snaps around them with the arrival of a Magical Enforcement Squad. Within minutes, both his and Potter’s wands are confiscated, and they are Apparated to the DMLE. Draco’s wrists are bound. Harry’s are not. _Typical_.

 

Pansy is gratifyingly livid at the sight of the headline in the Daily Prophet the next morning.

“ _Potter Confronts Former Death Eater in Muggle London_? He _attacked_ you! If only I’d been there…” Draco had been released after only fifteen minutes of questioning and submitting his wand to a vigorous _Priori Incantatem_ , but the Prophet had, as ever, spun the story as far into Potter’s court as possible.

“Wouldn’t want to sully Potter’s name, would we? Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t get dragged into it,” Draco says, removing his glasses to rub his at his red-rimmed eyes. The Ministry’s Obliviators had been shockingly indelicate, and he’d spent much of the night redoing their bumbling work on the Muggle dinner guests. It’s as if they didn’t realize that the whole disturbance would be written up in the Muggle papers, and wouldn’t it attract even more suspicion if none of the witnesses could remember _anything_? And now he has to suffer through a day of feeling weak and head-achey. Mind-work always drains him.

 

With their memories repaired, the Muggle set are unable to stop talking about the crazed man who barged in and threw a punch at Draco’s head. “Ex-boyfriend,” Draco tells them, and “Ex-boyfriend,” they say, and _Ex-boyfriend of model Draco Malfoy caused a stir this past Thursday at a Chiltern Firehouse dinner with stars Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner_ is printed in the gossip pages of the Evening Standard. As far as revenge goes, it’s relatively minor, but it makes Draco just a tad smug when Pansy reads the article aloud to him, laughing.

“It reminds me of the old days,” she says, “With Rita Skeeter, that old bat,” and Draco laughs with her and it _does_ feel rather like the old days.

 

Though good for a laugh, the Evening Standard write-up doesn’t seem to quite make up for the trouble Harry has caused him. What’s more, Potter is still lurking about, _keeping an eye_ on him. If anything, he’s increased his surveillance activities. Draco thinks Potter thinks Draco can’t _see_ him dashing out of sight around corners when he’s out shopping with Nick, or peering from behind the shelves at Waitrose when Draco stops to pick up some champagne on his way to Zayn’s flat, or watching from the boutique across the street when he’s having coffee with Mark-Francis in Chelsea. Draco wonders if Potter has a job at all, or if he’s been given a leave of absence after the Firehouse incident. _Nobody_ has that much free time. He can’t retaliate directly for the impertinence, of course — the wizarding world wouldn’t stand for it. But eventually the perfect opportunity for revenge presents itself.

 

Normally Nick would never be able to tempt Draco out of bed at the ungodly hour of half six for his ridiculous radio show. But he begs, and promises to pay for Draco’s brunch after, and begs some more, so eventually Draco relents. Draco does owe Nick a favour for smoothing over a disagreement with the owner of Chinawhite, so he dresses in the dark and waits in the early-morning chill for Nick to pick him up in his sleek black car.

It isn’t until an hour into the programme that Draco realizes that he has been given the perfect opportunity to humiliate Potter. He’s adjusted to the huge ear-muffs that keep playing everyone’s words right into his ears, and the strange purple-carpet-covered studio, and has finally started to wake up after the intern brings him a third cup of coffee. Fiona, who Draco has met several times without realizing she’s Nick’s show’s _producer_ , tells them all during a song that they have 5.5 million listeners. _Five and a half_ million _listeners?_ But this is _perfect_. Forget a throwaway line in the Evening Standard — now he has the attention of the whole country, and even foreigners listen to Nick's show. Draco writes Nick a quick note and slides it to him across the little table where they’re sitting. Nick reads it and raises his eyebrows, mouthing, _are you sure?_ Draco nods. Nick flashes an evil grin. Draco likes to think that if Nick weren’t a Muggle, he would have been sorted into Slytherin. He loves a nice spot of revenge. He doesn’t even make Draco wait — in the next break between music sets, Nick turns to Draco with a delighted expression.

“Now, Draco, I’d like to ask _you_ about something. Because just yesterday Fifi and I were talking about our worst experiences with our exes — EX-periences, let’s call them. Weren’t we, Fifi?” Fiona looks completely baffled.

“Right, yeah, we _were_ talking about that,” she says vaguely, directing a confused expression their way. Nick smirks and turns back to Draco.

“But _I_ think you might win that contest, Draco. Don’t you?”

“Oh, I — well,” Draco says as shyly as he can manage. “I suppose I might.”

“I just — I was hoping you might be able to tell us all about it, you know. And everyone who’s out there listening, if you have a horrible ex story, an EX-perience, that you think tops Draco’s, why don’t you give us a little text and tell us about it, and we’ll share the best ones. Eight, double one, double nine. Alright? So — Draco. You first.”

“Oh, leave him alone, Nick,” Fiona says, sounding genuinely worried. Draco flashes her a quick wink as he begins to speak.

“Well, Nick, you know probably the _most_ dramatic thing he did — ”

“I think I do. I mean it was in the _Evening Standard_ , but there weren’t any details released at the time. And having been there I can definitely inform everyone that it was insane. In. Sane. It was — where were we again?”

“The Chiltern Firehouse.”

“Oh posh, that!” Tina, the news announcer, says. “I haven’t been, how is it?”

“It’s great,” Nick says. “Really great. Anyway, Draco. He just sort of…turned up, didn’t he?”

“Yes, we were having dinner with a few friends, and Harry burst in.”

“Wait — I just feel like we should clarify, because there’s been lots of talk lately that you’ve something going on with Harry Styles — ”

“No, no, different Harry. Anyway, I don’t know how he even knew about it, it was a private dinner.”

“Right — and so he burst in, and then he started waving his arms about and shouting!”

“Yes, and then — “

“You knocked him on the floor!”

“Well, first he threw a punch at me, and — ”

“And _then_ you knocked him on the floor. Caught his wrist and just, _wham._ Have you studied much karate, Draco?”

“Oh — well, a bit.”

Draco has never studied karate. But several days before the dinner Nick had made him watch a Bruce Lee film, and he may have borrowed some ideas for the fabricated memories he’d implanted in the Muggles’ minds.

“Very mysterious past, Mr. Malfoy has,” Nick is saying gleefully into his microphone. He starts fiddling with the controls in front of him, accentuating his words with whooshing noises and something that sounds a bit like a gong. “Perhaps he was raised by ninjas in the mountains of Japan…” Draco laughs.

“Well, no. But I certainly know enough to be able to fight off Harry bloody Potter. I’ve had enough practice over the years. Just disarm him, and — ”

“Ha! Oh dear, you’ve said his name. _And_ a bit of cursing, there. Is that alright, Fifi?” Fiona looks horrified. “We’ll take it out of the recording before we put the show up online, sorry everyone! Naughty boy, Draco, very naughty indeed. Alright, everyone, all our lovely listeners, send us a little text with your stories, and we’ll read the best ones out for everyone to hear — eight, double one, double nine. But _first_ , and I think this is very appropriate — let’s play you Stay Away, by Charli XCX. Don’t you love this record, Fifi?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fifi says, glaring daggers at Draco from across the studio.

“Well _I_ just love it. Alright, alright, I’ll play it. Here you go!” Fiona starts the song and mutes their microphones with a tap of her finger. She turns on Draco, who hopes his cringe hides his complete lack of repentance.

“I’m so sorry, Fiona,” he says quickly, hands in the air like in a Muggle stick-em-up film. “I…forgot we were on the radio?”

“Not bloody likely. I’m going to have hell to pay for this, Draco Malfoy!”

“Well — it _was_ already in the papers, wasn’t it?” asks Nick.

“Not his name,” Draco admits.

“What if he gets — I dunno, death threats?” Fiona looks somewhat frantic. Draco can’t help but laugh. Somehow, seventeen years of being hounded by the Dark Lord himself and another fifteen battling dark wizards for his _chosen profession_ makes it difficult to imagine Potter being intimidated by a menacing note from a Muggle.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Stop — stop laughing, you two! This is completely inappropriate.”

“Well — he’s — he hasn’t got a phone. His address won’t be listed. No one will be able to find him, I swear.”

“God, he _was_ a weirdo, wasn’t he?” Nick is smirking.

“Yes, distinctly odd. Anyway he’s been stalking me for months, I had to do _something_ to get him to leave me alone. _”_

“Alright,” says Fiona, covering her eyes with her hands for a moment and breathing. “Just — why don’t you mention that he’s not in the phone book. Harry Potter…it’s a common name, I’m sure there are thousands of them, so even if you’re wrong — “

“I’m not.”

“Well, even so, they hopefully wouldn’t be able to figure out which one it is. So, yeah, just — just try to casually mention that they’ll never find him, Nick, tease him a bit, alright? I swear, if I get shit for this — ”

“I’ll buy you dinner, Fiona,” Draco says quickly.

“And me,” says Nick.

“And — and you. If you get in trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble, so — ” Nick is cut off by the end of the song, and he scrambles to lead into the next track.

It isn’t hard, working Potter’s complete inaccessibility into the conversation, and the rest of the show goes smoothly. Nick even invites Draco back — “You’ve got some lovely banter, Draco,” he says — but Fiona tells him he’s not allowed anywhere near the BBC studios until after the trouble from his on-air-antics has blown over. Draco’s not too concerned; trouble always seems to roll off his back in the Muggle world. He just hopes that Potter had been listening.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. When he returns to the flat that afternoon, after his delicious and victory-laced brunch with Nick, he finds a very stern looking great horned owl waiting for him on the window sill. He hasn’t seen this owl before — it’s not the one Potter had used to threaten him. When he unravels the scroll of parchment its holding, he finds a brief note written in a neat, cramped hand.

 

_Draco,_

_I’m writing because Harry won’t. He heard your interview on the Breakfast Show this morning and is very upset. He feels terrible about what happened at your dinner party. Whatever is going on between you two, please just overcome your differences and talk about it; these public jabs at one another are upsetting to both of you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

 

Draco snorts, and jots a quick note back.

 

_Ms. Granger,_

_Potter and I have nothing to discuss. I will remind you that he is the one who attacked me and my friends. When set against the Daily Prophet write-up about my supposed criminal activities and the resultant scorn to which I’ve been subjected, I expect you’ll find that the amusing anecdote I shared on Muggle radio was, in comparison, harmless._

_\- D. Malfoy_

 

He vaguely wonders what story Potter has been feeding his friends, that they imagine that this is some kind of conscious battle of wits between old rivals. If Potter would just leave him alone, Draco wouldn’t be forced to drag his name through the Muggle mud. The note does tell him one thing — he has completely riled Potter up. This means that the Breakfast Show scheme was successful.

The following weeks are quiet. Potter seems to have backed off a bit on his stalking, Zayn comes into town, and Harry Styles tweets about Draco’s new contract modeling for a line of clothing Nick designed. He gets stopped for several photos when he goes out for a walk in Hyde Park. Given that only a year previous Draco had been laboring in scorn and obscurity at the bottom rung of the wizarding legal system, his life now is almost too good to be true. _Almost_ too good, but not quite. Nothing is really too good for a Malfoy.

 

When Potter reappears suddenly a couple months after the Breakfast Show Draco isn’t particularly surprised, though he’d harbored fantasies of never setting eyes on the speccy git again. The timing is a bit inconvenient — Draco is with Pansy, who’s accompanying him to a benefit for a charity called, of all things, I Believe in Magic. They will walk the red carpet and be photographed, and then enjoy a fabulous dinner with other even-more famous people. They’ve been quite looking forward to it — Pansy is desperate to meet Alan Rickman, who is her newest celebrity crush — and are standing in front of their flat waiting for their hired Muggle car to come pick them up when Potter reveals himself.

“Malfoy!” he says, much too loudly for how close behind them he’s standing. Both Draco and Pansy jump at the noise and turn, startled, to face him.

“Er,” Draco says, when it’s clear that Potter doesn’t plan to announce his intentions for this visit, “Potter. So…good to see you again.”

His former rival is about as unkempt as normal, which is to say _very_ , and breathing hard for no discernible reason.

“Malfoy, I need to talk to you.” Potter is going a bit red in the face.

Draco exchanges a worried look with Pansy. As he turns back to face Potter he sees her surreptitiously fingering the clasp on her clutch purse, where she keeps her wand during Muggle outings.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Draco says. He attempts a smile, but he can tell it’s not working so he gives up almost immediately.

“I — ” Potter shoots an annoyed glance at Pansy, as though he wishes she would leave, but she ignores it. “I’m not angry about the Breakfast Show thing.”

“That’s too bad. I’ll have to try something else.”

“No — no, _listen_ , Malfoy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bursting into that dinner party, and I’m sorry about the Daily Prophet. I didn’t tell them to write that, you know.”

“Of course not.”

“Yes, of course not! Look, I’m sorry. Can you — can you forgive me?” Draco can’t help but laugh, even though it’s clear that Potter is being, as is his way, completely, embarrassingly genuine.

“Harry Potter, asking _me_ for forgiveness? I truly never thought I would see the day.”

“Well, now you have.”

“Thank you for the apology, Potter. I’ll…take it into consideration.” Draco makes to turn back towards the street, but Potter grabs at his wrist and so he turns back, annoyed. “ _What?_ ”

“It’s just — I can’t stop thinking about you, Malfoy.” Draco glances at Pansy, who looks quite as alarmed as he feels.

“Yes,” he says, finally. “I know.”

“You — you _know_?”

“Well of course I know. You spend the better part of your time following me around.” Potter’s eyes widen with shock.

“You knew — you saw — ”

“Which I really would prefer you stop, actually,” Draco interrupts.

“But I — do you ever think we could be friends?”

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“I just — I mean, do you ever think — we could hang out, some time. Go out for a pint.”

“Potter, are you asking me out on a _date_?”

“No. Yes. No. I — I don’t know.” Potter looks desperately up at Draco, who can only blink. At that moment Pansy, who has been watching the exchange with great interest, steps forward.

“You’ve spent a good six months stalking him, and now you want him to go out on a date with you?”

“Oh.” Harry says. His voice is very small now. “I’m — I’m sorry. I just — ”

“Thought he must be breaking the law, but now that you’ve discovered he hasn’t been, you want him to forget all that and _date_ you?”

“I’ve — I’ve been really confused, these past months,” Potter says to his shoes. Now that he’s not directly at Potter’s ridiculous kicked-puppy expression, Draco is able to collect himself enough to speak.

“I’m sure the rest of the wizarding world would be interested to hear this,” he says slowly, “But honestly, I don’t care.” The car pulls up just then, and a man with white gloves comes around to open the door for them. Draco has never been more thankful to see a Muggle vehicle in his life. “Well,” he says, “this is our car. As you probably know, we’re attending a benefit dinner for ill Muggle children, and I’d really rather not be late. Goodbye, Potter.” He turns to get into the car, but Potter has grabbed his wrist again, so he turns back once more.

“But — Malfoy, _Draco_ , don’t you think you might…give it all up, some day? This Muggle…thing? Come back to the wizarding world?”

“My dear Mr. Potter,” Draco says, laughing as he twists his wrist from Potter’s sweaty grip. He smirks as he slides into the car next to Pansy. “Whatever for?”

The white-gloved Muggle snaps the door closed, and Potter is left gaping on the pavement. It is, Draco thinks, going to be very good night indeed.

 


End file.
